Fix
by nicky-ji
Summary: Months after breaking out of Sona, Michael and Lincoln are both still trying to deal with Sara's death. As things start getting worse for Michael, Lincoln gets a surprise visitor who might just be able to fix their problems. POST 3.04 AU FUTURE
1. Fix I

FIX I

Lincoln threw his keys onto the kitchen counter. Ignoring the clunk as they fell into the sink, he loosened the collar of his shirt and sighed, revelling in the feel of air around his neck, revelling in the freedom to relax. For the second time that week he had had to stay late at work, making it the fucking fifth time in the past fortnight – he didn't even want to think how many nights it had happened during the past month.

_Shut up Linc. Just be grateful that you _have_ a job. _

In all honesty he was surprised anyone had hired him. He may have been innocent of killing Steadman, but he was guilty of so many other things. Both he and Michael were. Lincoln's heart knotted. Whilst he had been spending his every waking hour doing the next right thing, Michael had been spending all his time doing nothing at all – it was as if Michael thought that if he did nothing then he couldn't cause any more damage. In the space of a year Lincoln had switched places with Michael – now he was the one with a respectable job with a building firm, the one with a handful of reliable friends, the one who was able to finance LJ's future – and he finally understood the pathetic mess Michael had seen every time he looked at him before. The sad thing was, just like back then, Michael couldn't see anything but the picture he painted. Yes, he had a job and a family – he also had a new therapist, however, though Linc would never say it to Michael's face, the therapist wasn't doing a damn thing to help him – but they were all there just acting as part of his mirage. He just paid his therapist to cover up his pain.

Sighing, Linc reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer can, its cool melting away his tension. Pushing the door shut, he took a long sip of his drink, the cold soothing his ragged throat. Sighing again, he left the kitchen, taking the two steps it took to walk into the living area.

"Michael?"

Lincoln frowned, listening intently for a reply through the ringing silence of the apartment. Michael only worked for an electrical appliance store and so was normally home before him. And with no friends, no co-workers who concerned him and no LJ currently around, the odds of him being out were slim-to-nil.

His frown deepening, Lincoln crossed the room and walked down the short corridor that linked the bedrooms to the rest of their home. Stopping in front of the door on the right, Lincoln called Michael's name again, and again earned no reply. It was possible that Michael had gone to bed already – he seemed to spend most of his time at home in bed – but something about the emptiness of the apartment troubled him. There had been no name badge discarded on the table; no crumpled newspaper on the sofa. Caving into his instincts, as quietly as he could, Linc pushed the door open to check that Michael was in fact inside.

The can dropped from his hand.

On the centre of the bed, Michael lay flat on his back, a needle hanging from his hand.

A shiver splintered his spine and acid burned up his throat – for a frozen second Lincoln's body succumbed to the panic that was thawing in his brain.

Fright snapped him.

"Michael!" Linc dived for the bed, his hands reaching for his brother's still shoulders. "Michael. Mike!"

Fear flooded his chest, pouring into his heart; Michael wasn't responding. Groping behind him, Linc pulled the phone from its cradle. Punching in the three numbers, Lincoln cried Michael's name again, the needle silently dropping to the floor.

XXX

Lincoln shifted in his seat again. After having been sitting for hours, the wooden back of the chair was beginning to dig deep into his spine. Closing his eyes, Lincoln leaned his head back, letting it bump against the wall. He instantly regretted it, images of Michael flooding his eyes: his slack mouth, his dead eyes, his limp hands. The needle. But it didn't really matter if he left them open instead, either way his painful guilt would slap him in the face – he had been too busy with his own shit to see that Michael was slowly drowning in his.

For the first time that week Linc was grateful LJ had gone back to Chicago to see all of his old friends.

"Lincoln Burrows?" Lincoln snapped his eyes open to see a tired man standing in front of him, a clipboard firmly held under his arm. "I'm Dr. Towndrow. I've been treating your brother, Michael Scofield."

"How is he?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth without restraint, but Lincoln didn't care if the Doc looked dead on his feet – he just cared about his brother.

"The insulin he took doesn't seem to have caused any major problems, but I want to keep him here for a few days and run some tests just to make sure. Other than that all I can say is that your brother is a lucky man. He's a little groggy at the moment but you can go talk to him if you want."

With a swift goodbye, the doctor disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Lincoln all alone again.

XXX

The pastel pattern on Michael's hospital gown was a pale mockery of the dark ink that swirled across his skin. Just like the gown, everything in the room was dull, faded and bleached by the grey light. Sitting down, Lincoln watched as Michael followed him with his colourless eyes, the shadows beneath them removing the last traces of life.

Lincoln blew out a breath and dragged his hand over his head. Looking up he saw that Michael was still looking at him with the same empty anticipation.

"Shit Michael. Why the hell did you it?"

Michael's eyes dropped, his whole body sinking down. Lincoln watched as Michael's throat worked, his mouth trying to form the words he clearly couldn't find.

Lincoln was certain that Michael was going to stay silent when he suddenly whispered a reply. A reason.

"I miss her."

Those three words hit him hard. Swallowed round the sudden lump in his throat, Linc said, "I know you do. I do too. But she died to save us. Killing yourself just makes her death pointless. You get that right?"

Lincoln wondered if he was talking to Michael or to himself, but as Michael mumbled, "I know. But it hurts," he figured it didn't matter.

Reaching out, Lincoln covered Michael's slim hand with his. He wished he could comfort Michael but he knew there was nothing he could do. He just thanked whatever god that Michael wasn't a witness to her death. If there was one thing worse than knowing that you were the reason for someone's death, it was knowing that you were the reason for someone's death and not being to do one damn thing about it.

XXX

After a day, the hospital released Michael saying he was fine, then handed Lincoln a wodge of leaflets about mental health and rehab.

As Lincoln put down the bag of Michael's stuff he had taken to the hospital only the day before, he watched Michael nervously step towards the couch. He seemed to survey it and then sat down, his hands twisting in his lap.

Even though a whole day had passed, Lincoln had yet to ask why Michael had shot up with a syringe full of insulin. It was cowardness really, and Lincoln was not a coward, not by far. The only reason he hadn't asked was that he was afraid the answer was what he already suspected, and to have that confirmed might break him as much as it had Michael.


	2. Fix II

FIX II

Lincoln groggily tipped coffee into his mug. It was another early morning. It had been another sleepless night.

Michael had promised him that he would never reach for a needle again. He had even read through every anti-drugs leaflet Lincoln had, checked out self-help books from the library and declared that he was going to see his therapist more often. He knew he should be happy that Michael was doing something about his problem, but in reality he all felt was disappointed. To him it was another front, another cover up. To him to wasn't how many days Michael had been clean, but how many days until he next crashed.

So far it had been eight days.

Lincoln blinked over the top of his mug, slowly processing the fact that Michael was up even earlier than normal. One blink later and he realised why.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lincoln snapped, staring at the tie that hung perfectly from Michael's buttoned up collar. As if sensing his displeasure, Michael smoothed a hand down his chest. "Work."

Lincoln breathed deeply and carefully sat his mug down. "No you're not."

Michael's eyebrows knotted. "Excuse me?"

"You need to stay home and rest."

Michael's eyebrows relaxed, briefly twitching in silent laughter. "Linc, you may be able to sit around the house for days on end doing nothing, but I can't."

Lincoln sighed heavily, letting Michael's words slip off him as Michael slipped into his coat. He may have been half asleep, but even the deepest of dreams he would know what Michael was doing, what Michael was (mostly) thinking. But going back to work did not mean that things would go back to normal. "Michael, you just can't pretend that it didn't happen."

Michael paused, his buttons half done up. "I don't want to pretend. I want to forget."

Then as if he hadn't reacted at all, he smoothed his name badge down under his lapel and finished doing up his coat.

XXX

Twelve days.

And finally a day off. Though Lincoln was sure some peace, quiet and a few beers would do him some good, that wasn't the reason he had booked a day off; LJ was coming home. He had now spent a couple of weeks in Chicago visiting his old friends and his old life, and had now decided it was time to get back to his new life. LJ had told him that he was getting on a bus and would arrive home that afternoon. It was the best news Lincoln had heard in a fortnight.

After watching Michael disappear off to work, Lincoln had made up LJ's bed with clean sheets, vacuumed the carpet, and sprayed some air freshener he had found under the sink. He had then walked down the street, and hauled back as much food as he could from the food store by the traffic lights. Looking at the stuffed fridge, Linc smiled.

It was just before 3pm when Linc pulled his car up into the bus station. The bus has yet to arrive, but grey clouds are filling its space, removing the sun from the surrounding stone.

To pass the time Linc bought himself a cup a coffee, however he might as well have drunk the gas straight out of his car because it's that bitter. Taking another disgusting gulp, Linc looked up at the sound of a chugging engine and smiled as the bus finally pulled into the station.

Immediately chucking his cup, Lincoln walked over to the bus; not letting LJ have even one second to get his bearings, then swallowed him up in his arms.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Hey."

A drop of rain on his head forced him back and usher LJ into his car. Belted up with LJ's bag thrown on the backseat, Lincoln finally let himself survey LJ. Luckily he looked as good as ever.

"So, good trip?"

A pang of pride rippled through him as LJ smiled. "Yeah, it was great. Dan hasn't changed one bit – still a fucking mad hatter. Though now he thinks _I'm_ the mad one. Gotta say I disagree. He's gone and decided to take up ice skating. Freaking ice skating!"

Lincoln chuckled, LJ continued telling him how Dan was turning into a girl, and then started rambling on about Colin's new job and beau.

"Anyway, how's you and Uncle Mike? Anything interesting happen? Or are you finally acting like normal people."

Lincoln's happy stroll came to a screeching halt. Last night he had planned to keep the whole thing quite. God knew LJ and dealt with another of his and Mike's shit. But suddenly it seemed like a really bad idea.

Pulling the car to the side of the road, Lincoln steeled himself. "Actually, there's something you probably should know."

XXX

LJ sat his bag down in the small space between the wall and the kitchen counter. Slowly he ran his hands over his head, pressing them into his eyes. It was a movement Lincoln had seen Michael do a thousand times before.

Finding his knees suddenly weary, Lincoln dropped onto a chair, letting his car keys clatter onto the table. His earlier excitement had boiled away, leaving him dry. But his son was standing in front of him and he would exhaust himself endless if it meant keeping LJ.

Pulling himself up straight, Lincoln spoke. "Your room's clean if you want to unpack. Or I can get you some dinner if you want. And I think Michael recorded-"

"I'll go unpack."

Without turning round, LJ lifted his bag and disappeared down the hall.

XXX

LJ hadn't cared what they ate and because Lincoln had still felt tired, the stained Chinese take-out and been removed from the fridge door and they now had containers littering the lounge carpet. With no ideas on what to do other than eat, they had both settled down to watch an old movie.

Blinking his eyes at the TV, Linc realised that the movie had ended and some badly acted hospital drama was now being aired. A blink later and Linc realised that LJ had gone. With a yawn, he heaved himself off the sofa and pounded down the hall towards LJ's bedroom.

LJ was sitting on his bed, a laptop perched on his knees and a slight frown between his eyes.

"What're you doing?"

Lincoln flinched inwardly as LJ started at his sudden presence, but quickly ignored the feeling as guilt flashed across LJ's face.

"LJ..."

Lincoln watched as LJ debated for a second then carefully turned his laptop round. Blazed across the top of the screen were the words 'Rehab: Help and Hope'.

"Dad, he risked his life for us. Helping him is the least we can do."


	3. Fix III

FIX III

"Remind me why you told him?"

Lincoln pinched his eyes closed. "I told you, he needed to know."

"No Linc, he didn't _need_ to know. In fact I'm sure he would have been quite alright _not_ knowing!"

The familiar pound of a headache was sounding in his ears. Goddamn, he didn't need to hear all this again. "Michael..."

"He wants to send me to fucking rehab!"

Lincoln screwed up his eyes, the image of the half empty bottle of vodka in Michael's sock drawer floating into view. The mundane job of putting away the dry washing had turned into a painful activity. After everything Michael had said he was doing and nothing had changed.

"And I agree with him."

Michael's eyes widened, transforming into colourless discs. "You agree?"

"Yeah, I do."

He felt weird watching Michael trying to comprehend what he was saying. Slowly Michael deflated, his eyes dropping down, a lifeless grey staring at the bland floor. "Michael, you need help. Real help."

Michael's eyes snapped up, all steal. "I _am_ getting help. _Real_ help. Or have you forgotten that I have a therapist?"

Linc scoffed. "Oh yeah, 'cos he's doing _so much_ to help you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Michael was a perfect picture of baseless disgust. Lincoln would have found the whole thing rather amusing if it wasn't the fact that it was ruining Michael's life, day by day. "Michael, he's not Dr. Brighton. He doesn't care about helping you. He just cares about your money. And you seem to be perfectly happy with that." The words calmly left his mouth, but each syllable stained his tongue: it was all true but Michael clearly didn't believe a word, turning his reason to dirt. Lincoln swallowed hard. "You're paying him to make me and LJ believe your okay, that you're getting 'help'. But I don't believe you for a second."

The two brothers stood staring at each other. Despite his revelation, Michael looked completely unrattled and Lincoln wondered if he was really too far gone to understand anything Lincoln had said and what it all meant. God knew he wasn't all that mad at Michael; he was just downright fucking afraid for him.

Michael's shoulders suddenly squared up and for a brief moment Lincoln thought he was about to tell him that he was right, either that or that he, Linc, was crazy.

"Maybe I can't be fixed."

Lincoln's heart crumbled.

XXX

The air in the kitchen was stifling. It was fuzzing his brain, filling his lungs, making it harder for him to think, to breathe. His anger was slowly heating his veins, boiling up old memories that had been buried deep in his body. And to top it all off, Michael looked as calm and cool as ever.

Lincoln breathed deeply. "Okay, not being able to fix the whole LLI thing I agree with. And I get that a crappy childhood is hard to get over. But you're an adult. You can deal with this. It can be fixed. _You_ can be fixed. You just need to see that."

Michael cocked his head to the side, chilling the air and Lincoln right down to the spine. "Why do you suddenly care so much?"

"What?" This conversation was going all over the place; Lincoln could barely remember where they started. "I've always cared about you. You're my brother."

His words sliced down the centre of the room; Michael was suddenly on the other side. Three words that had once meant the world to the two of them where now clearly nothing more than a speck of dirt to Michael.

"Is that so? Funny, I can only remember you caring about my money. That's all you ever wanted from me. That and help looking after LJ. I mean that's why you wanted me to break us both out of Fox River isn't it? So that I could then help you help LJ."

Lincoln coughed.

"You didn't care if you lived. You didn't care that I needed you alive. In fact you never cared that I needed you around. Ever since we were kids you would run off and leave me alone. You know, sometimes I think that when we were really young you only stuck around because Mum told you to." Michael paused, running his hand slowly across the table's smooth surface. "Maybe if you had bothered to stay around, my childhood wouldn't have been so...'crappy'. But on the hand I might have realised earlier your lack of interest in me. I honestly don't know which would have been worse: having a stranger hate me or having my own brother hate me."

His head was spinning. Every horrible thought he had ever had regarding Michael was suddenly coming out of his mouth, and hearing Michael say it was ten times worse than him thinking it. Quickly needing to discharge the words that were sparking between them, Lincoln corrected the one false thing Michael had said. "I don't hate you."

Michael's hand stilled at the edge of the table, his fingers curling round the wood. "Yes, you do. You hate me for having been more successful than you. I always did better at school. I got the better job. I even had the more beautiful girlfriends." Lincoln watched as Michael's fingers began to turn white. "I bet you would be happier if I was just out of your life."

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Lincoln snapped. Maybe he didn't need to go to rehab; he needed a padded white room. Maybe the Doc was right shoving him into the Whack Shack.

Lincoln rubbed his hand over his face. Only Michael could turn a conversation round like this, going from talking about how messed up he was to talking about how messed up Lincoln was. "Michael, tomorrow I am finding a rehab centre to check you into. I don't care if you want to go there or not, but you _are_ going. End of discussion."

XXX

Michael had walked out of their home and had not returned since their morning exchange. In that time Lincoln had been to work for a few hours, done an emergency shop, collected LJ from school then dropped him off at his friend's for the evening, and had dinner whilst watching one third of the Godfather trilogy. It was now past the watershed time on TV and he was currently flicking between some shot 'em up western and hot chicks dancing on stage.

Lincoln's finger froze above the TV remote at the sound of a knock. Another knock and Lincoln was flying off the sofa. Reaching the door Lincoln prayed that it was Michael. Ever since Michael left the apartment that morning Lincoln had been wondering if Michael would ever walk into it again. Lincoln had made it clear he wanted Michael in rehab; Michael had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with rehab or him. Breathing hard Lincoln wrenched the door open.

It wasn't Michael.

It was Sara.


	4. Fix IV

FIX IV

For months she had been searching for this place and now that she was finally here she found herself double checking the numbers on the black painted door, checking that they were the right ones. But like the last time she looked, the dull metal still said 26 in the dim light.

She took a deep breath.

Then she was roughly wiping her sweaty palm on her jeans before lifting her hand to knock.

XXX

The door opened.

"Lincoln."

Her shoulders relaxed in relief and her chest tightened with unease - she had never been so happy to see someone but have absolutely no clue as what to say or do – as she stood motionless, staring at the man she had risked her job – her life – to save. Suddenly a tangle of emotions wrapped round her heart and she felt torn between crying and hitting Lincoln in the centre of his chest. So she just stood, hoping that eventually one of them would be able to say something, _anything_, to fill the silence that filled the hall and the past three months.

Lincoln unstuck his glued tongue first.

"Sara. You're...alive."

"Yeah," she breathed, the word floating uselessly.

"Oh. Come in then." Lincoln stepped back and Sara re-entered the Burrows/Scofield's lives.

XXX

Their apartment was small; she was instantly wrapped up in reminders of Michael the second she stepped through the front door, the evidence of him pressing into her from all four sides. As she followed Lincoln through the kitchen, neatly printed lists pinned on the fridge caught her eye, making her smile. The lounge was much more her style: over-tall piles of DVDs and CDs sat in the corner, whilst used mugs and old magazines covered the small table squeezed in between the sofa and TV. Next to the window was a narrow book case housing only a handful of books, but perched on top was a photo. Sara felt a pang as she looked at Michael, Lincoln and LJ smile out of the glass, whole and happy.

Sara pushed a stubborn curl behind her ear and turned to Lincoln to find him staring at her. Again her unease gripped at her throat, making it hard to breathe. "Erm, I guess I have some explaining to do."

Lincoln's eyebrows twitched. "Yeah. Like why you're not dead...Sorry that sounds harsh but-"

"No. No, Lincoln, it's not harsh." Sara briefly closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. Memories of the past began to merge with the present and she found that she had to open her eyes to ground herself in the here and now. Looking at Lincoln she calmed herself with the fact that he appeared healthy and comforted herself with the fact that he wasn't shouting. Taking another deep breath, she sat down.

Lincoln stood for a second – again, staring at her – then sat next to her, the sofa dipping under his weight. "I still can't believe you're alive. I mean, I saw your head in a box..."

"It wasn't my head."

"Yeah, but it looked a hell a lot like yours," Lincoln bit back. "Fuck, I don't even know how that is possible."

Sara sighed. "Lincoln, I was kidnapped by members of the Company. They have contacts."

Lincoln choked. "Ones that make fake heads?" Shaking his head, Linc exhaled heavily. "Actually I don't wanna know...Thing I don't get is why they would even do that? How is making me think you're dead help?"

Her heart dropped, sinking with all her false hope that she could avoid this topic. "Erm, I made a deal."

Lincoln's eyebrows shot up in an action so similar to Michael's. "A deal? With the Company?"

"Yeah."

Lincoln stared at her. "What deal?"

Sara tugged up her jumper cuffs. "I think that's something you'd be better off not knowing."

Lincoln continued to stare at her for a beat then nodded, turning his attention to the far wall, making Sara feel a sudden rush of thankfulness for his imperfectness. Compared to Michael, she often felt inferior, his saviour complex and school-boy manners contrasting darkly with her drug addled past. But here was the brother who made mistakes and was willing to look past everyone else's. And for a moment she felt really relaxed.

Breaking both their thoughts, Lincoln turned back to her. "Okay answer me one question; this deal ended up with your head in a box...right?"

"Yes."

Lincoln nodded again. Sara pulled at her sleeve again, tugging loose a thread.

"You know that what you did was as insane as what Michael did?!"

A humourless laugh suddenly bubbled up her throat. "Yes."

Her laughter died away, shrouding the room in silence. Her head was ringing, the just finished conversation swirling round her mind, twisting with the events of the past months. But it was one thought that kept on boiling out of the mess in her mind: the wish that Lincoln never found out what the deal she made was.

It had been such a good idea; an idea to keep them all alive. She had bargained with Susan to use her idea and had won – Lincoln was to believe that she was dead causing him to think LJ was in real danger: then he would do anything Susan wanted. It was a manipulative plan, Sara knew that, and she also knew it would hurt a lot of people, the people she cared most about. But Lincoln was right; it was just like something Michael would think of. And that thought eased her soul.

XXX

"Dad!"

LJ's voice rang through the apartment, the sound of the front door slamming closed somehow increasing his volume. Lincoln gave her a 'stay put' look then hauled himself off the sofa and into the kitchen, towards LJ.

"Fuck." Sara flinched at the sound of fear in Lincoln's voice. "What the hell happened?"

"Me and Alec bumped into him on the way to Al's Pizza."

Sara's fingers fisted into her sleeve; she had an idea what was happening, but was afraid to discover that it was real.

"Fuck," Lincoln repeated. "Erm, just sit him on a chair for now and give him some water."

Sara heard some shuffling, the tap running, a bang, the sound of a glass being knocked over, and then some slurred swearing. Then she snapped. Jumping off the sofa, she took the three steps to the kitchen.

Her breath hitched. "Michael..."

He froze. Slowly his eyes turned towards her, his mouth going slack.

Then she was watching him empty his stomach over the shiny kitchen floor.


	5. Fix V

FIX V

In a flash Lincoln had grabbed a bucket from nowhere and shoved it into Michael's hands, and somehow Sara had moved to Michael's side, soothing him as he was sick again. Her stomach turned as Michael spluttered, his pale fingers sluggishly clenched over the rim of the bucket, nauseous quickly rising up her throat. She had dealt with vomiting one too many times with her over-drinking mother, and throughout her time as a doctor had found out that now it made her sick too. But it wasn't that that was making her ill: it was the sight of Michael up close. His fingers weren't just pale, they were clammy. His blurred eyes were blood shot with the deepest shadows beneath them. The only part of him that looked alive were his cracked lips, blood red against his translucent skin.

He reminded her of the people she had met in rehab.

Michael coughed, listlessly blinking at nothing. Suddenly he snapped his head round to stare at her. "Sara...Sara. I'm sorry..."

Michael coughed again. "Linc, can I go to bed now?"

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. Come on."

Taking the bucket from Michael, Lincoln used his free hand to heave Michael off the chair and guide him through the lounge towards the bedrooms. And as they disappeared her heart broke. Michael's words to her had been a whisper - practically non-existent - completely unlike the slurred but strong voice Michael had used with Lincoln. It was as if she didn't exist.

XXX

"Sara...?"

She blinked. Her sluggish mind was slowly catching up.

"Sara!"

Suddenly two arms were wrapped around her shoulders in an embrace much like his uncle's. LJ was hugging her.

"I thought you were dead!" he cried into her ear, half happy and half torn, and Sara suddenly felt a wave of crushing guilt of not having had said a word to him yet. After everything they had been through together he deserved more. Sara slackened in his arms, slowly circling him with her own. "I know. But I'm not," she replied, hoping that by stating it out loud would somehow erase the fact that to him – to everyone – she had been.

LJ pulled away, his bright eyes brimming with disbelief. "How? I mean...shit, how?"

"Long story."

"Well, duh," LJ shot back, the impish grin she had rarely seen stealing over his face for a second. "Guess it's as long as the one going on here."

Sara glanced at the chair, allowing its simple image to calm her raging mind and sort her muddled thoughts. After a few silent seconds she turned back to LJ but found that the words were still failing her. Looking back at LJ, he gave her a shy smile. "I guess we all have been living our own soap-operas huh?"

XXX

It was about 2 minutes later that LJ believed that she really was back, the two of them smiling sadly at each other as they settled down on the sofa, and it was about 10 minutes later when Lincoln reappeared, a sour expression twisting his face into a scowl.

"LJ, go look after your uncle. I think he's done being sick now."

He gave her another shy smile and like a spark, LJ left.

Sara watched as Linc slowly sunk down onto the couch next to her. He looked exhausted and again Sara felt the one question that was burning her tongue jam against her teeth. She had barged her way back into both Michael's and Lincoln's and even LJ's lives, and on her way barrelling back in, something had broken and she was afraid that it couldn't be fixed.

She pushed her hair behind her ears and pulled up all her courage. "What's going on Lincoln?"

Lincoln cocked his eyebrow. "Apart from the fact that my brother can't hold his alcohol?"

For a beat Sara thought she had heard wrong – Michael drinking was an image she just couldn't imagine – then realised that in reality she knew nothing and talking was the only way she was going to get answers. "Yes, apart from that, though that would be a good place to start," Sara replied, feeling slightly ashamed at her hard tone, her old doctor persona readily remerging. She crossed her arms and pushed away her guilt. "Okay. Why don't you start with why he got drunk? I'm guessing he had a reason."

Lincoln looked at her, a hard blaze in his eye, and then seemed to crumble under her gaze. "We had a fight this morning."

"So, what?" Sara said, staring at Lincoln's hunched form. "Michael decided to get drunk to forget about it?"

"Or to piss me off. Probably both."

Sara paused, her doctor persona slipping. "Okay, I'm missing something here...why would Michael think that getting drunk was even a soluti-"

"This isn't the first time something like this has happened. God, it feels like every couple of weeks I've been dragging his drunken ass home." Lincoln dragged a hand over his face, his eyes clenching tight. "This morning we were fighting about him going to rehab."

"Oh," was all she said and her broken heart shattered all over her feet.

"Sona, you...It broke him. And like a true Burrows he decided to find comfort in a bottle instead of his brother." Lincoln sighed, suddenly becoming as careworn as his brother. "He's become an addict."

_Addict_. The word hung in the air; a fog that she couldn't see through or beyond. He had to by lying, he had to be... There was no way Michael would have become an addict... But then she remembered the time she believed the only thing he wanted was needles... And it wasn't as if he had ever outright disapproved of him...

Through her haze, Sara became aware that Lincoln was talking again. "There's something else Sara. A few weeks ago Michael ODed. Turned out he's been shooting up on insulin."

Sara stopped breathing. "Insulin?"

Lincoln looked her dead in the eye. "Like I said; your death broke him."

XXX

Sara sat in silence. She didn't say a word when LJ came back to say that Michael had fallen asleep. And she made no sound when Lincoln disappeared with LJ to make sure that Michael really was out cold. But despite the quiet her head was pounding: her mind just would not shut up.

After a few minutes Lincoln reappeared, returning to his spot on the couch.

Sara pulled on her sleeve.

She knew it was silly – small and insignificant to everything else – but there was one thought that was screaming through her mind. "He thought I was a ghost."

Lincoln looked at her with wearily, and Sara felt herself buckle. "I'm stone-cold sober and _I _can't believe you're fucking sitting on my couch." Lincoln paused, a crease deepening between his eyes. "Wait until tomorrow. Things will start to get better then."

XXX

LJ had grabbed the cushions off the couch and set up camp on his father's floor, leaving his bed for her to sleep in. It had only been half an hour since they had said goodnight and Sara could already hear snores from Lincoln's room.

Climbing out of bed, Sara silently slipped out of the room and padded down the hall. Slowly, she opened Michael's bedroom door a crack and slide inside. For the rest of the night she sat on the floor, her back against the wall, watching Michael sleep until the bleak light of morning began to creep through the blinds.


	6. Fix VI

FIX VI

// The rope dug deep into her hip, making her nerves flair. The room smelt damp soaked despite the heat that seeped through the air and into her skin.

_God, she wished she was on that boat; the cool breeze, a fridge full of soda and Michael._

Her stomach cramped. She knew her situation was dire, but the guilt over what had happened to Michael crushed her. It was all her fault...

Suddenly the door crashed open. The blinding sun seared into the room, and through her eyelids she saw someone being shoved onto the floor. The door slammed shut, shrouding the room in darkness again.

She blinked then her guilt doubled. "LJ..."

Lincoln had often mentioned his son during his medical checks at Fox River, but she had never once seen him, not even in a photo. It was only when she had been on the run, Michael, Lincoln and herself had been sheltering in the safety of a hotel room, that she finally discovered what LJ – Lincoln's son, Michael's nephew – looked like. A small peeling passport photo had fallen out of Lincoln's pocket as he fished for some loose change. Sara had picked up the fallen photo and found herself staring at Michael's bright eyes and Lincoln's cocky grin.

LJ stared up from the floor, his breath coming out in hard pants. "Yeah. And you are?"

"Sara. I'm...I'm a friend of Michael's."

A grin glimmered across his face. "So you're the doctor Michael's all hot about?"

Sara felt colour burn into her cheeks and for the first time since being locked away was glad that it was dark inside the room.

"Dad mentioned you to me when explaining the whole escape thing."

"Oh." Sara's mind had gone blank; LJ was acting amazingly calm. As she watched LJ look around the room, just like those few weeks ago, she felt the need to save him like she had rescued that photo from the floor.

XXX

It had taken her some time – and caused her some pain – but she had managed to loosen the ropes that binded her to the chair. Sara could now slump on the seat, her stomach rising and falling comfortably with each shallow breath.

She glanced over at LJ. They had barely finished discovering who each other was when a guard reappeared and tied up LJ to a chair that looked a lot like hers. Feeling her stomach knot again, she looked away. Carefully she slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small paper flower. She could no longer remember why she had brought it with her, but as she smoothed her fingertips over the sharp lines, she didn't care why; during the first day it had been her sole comfort and source of strength. It reminded her of everything Michael was and everything she needed to fight for.

"What's that?"

Sara quickly stuffed the flower back into her pocket. "Nothing; just something your uncle gave me."

XXX

"Say it. Say it!"

"No." The gun clicked. "Okay, okay..."

A shiver sliced down her spine as LJ repeated the words for a 'little message' to Lincoln.

Breath boiled through her lips, and she gulped down the hot air. Her knees were knocking with every with every single word and a tear was stinging at her eye; the fear in LJ's face was ripping away her strength, making her all bone and hollow nothing.

Looking away, she dug her fingers into the floor she sat on, trying to ground herself. She had survived Kellerman, she could survive this. It was just the added worry of Lincoln's son – Michael's nephew – that was scratching away her fragile hope.

_I choose to have faith. Cause without that I've got nothing. It's the only thing that's keeping me going..._

Sara looked back up at LJ and believed that they were both going to end up alive and free.

XXX

The bitch's hand slapped her face.

Sara bit her lip and squeezed close her eyes, the familiar pain flaring across her cheek. Despite her well manicured nails and moisturised hands she sure as hell could pack a punch. She groaned inwardly as she straightened herself up and stared Susan in the eye. "I already told you what I know. I'm not going have suddenly learn something new while locked up here am I?"

Susan smirked. "No, I suppose not," she said smoothing her left hand over her knuckles. "Which leads to the question of what I am going to do with you now?"

Her heart hammered at her ribs. This was it, after one too many brave faces and fresh bruises, this was it; her one shot to save LJ and let the Burrows be a family again.

"I have an idea."

Susan cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what would this idea be?"

"You kidnapped LJ and me for information and to use as leverage. Well, to me it seems that you have all the information you can out of us, which just leaves you to use us for leverage.

"That video and those photos worked well didn't they? You said yourself that Lincoln is terrified about what might happen, that he's doing everything he can to make sure that LJ stays alive. I don't know if I've ever told you this, but that's why he agreed to breaking out of Fox River; so that he could look after LJ.

"If I were you, I would prey on that fear."

Susan frowned. "And how would you do that?"

"Make everyone think that I was dead. Generally in situations like this, if one hostage dies the other is likely too. I think my death would spur Lincoln on."

Sara watched as Susan's face lit up with glee. "I underestimated you. You're as smart and as devious as your boyfriend. You might just prove some use."

XXX

The phone was sweaty in her grasp. The tone broke and his deep voice crackled on the line. She held onto her cuff and prayed that they could both survive this.

"It's a lost cause," she said. "LJ and I can see it now. It's a lost cause. Do you understand?" She forced the words out; it's not happy but it's a goodbye and she needed to say a farewell as she didn't know if she would ever see him again. Her heart cracked as he tried to understand what she was saying. _Please Michael, just believe__ I'm going to die. I know you don't want to but I need you to or we'll both be really dead._

A gun pressed into her head and she let go of the phone. Her time was up.

XXX

LJ was crying in the next room. Sara had a cloth stuffed into her mouth and was fighting back her own tears.

After another war of words, Susan had pulled her into the side room, slammed shut the door and pulled out a gun. Sara's eyes had widened, then chocked as suddenly a cloth was shoved into her mouth, the words "this is the part where you die" whispered into her ear.

A shot later and she thought she was dead. Only she wasn't. And only she and Susan knew that. //


	7. Fix VII

FIX VII

Michael stood under the shower spray, willing it to sooth his aching head. He breathed deeply, hoping the steam would clear his sluggish mind, still clogged with anger at Lincoln. He knew his brother had good reasons to be worried, but like always Linc was focusing on what was right in front of his face instead of taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture.

His blood boiled again as he recalled Lincoln's black words against his therapist. Just because he and Dr Townsend had yet to discuss the events of his life after Fox River, he had helped him come to terms with what had happened inside the walls of that prison. Maybe Lincoln could easily push aside the memories of daily carnage, but he couldn't, he just _couldn't_.

Michael flipped off the shower. Lincoln was not going to be happy about him coming home drunk, and his thin but consistent excuse of 'drinking with work mates' was not going to cut it this time. Running a hand over his fuzzy head, he knew it was time to face the music.

XXX

Lincoln slapped down a plate of toast and eggs as soon as Michael walked into the kitchen. "Eat up."

Michael slowly sat down at the table, staring at the plate, his stomach dropping even lower into his intestines. "Thanks Linc, but I'm not really that hungry."

Linc's eyebrow twitched up. "Trust me; some food will do you some good." Lincoln then pushed the plate towards him, and despite his stomach's protests, Michael found himself starting to eat.

Swallowing a piece of toast, staring at the breakfast made for him, watching his brother busy around the kitchen, Michael suddenly realised that for the first time in his life he truly felt like the younger brother. And for the first time in days (weeks, months, maybe even years), his anger at his brother melted away.

As soon as he had finished, Lincoln whisked away his plate, throwing it into the sink with a mountain of bubbles. Michael stayed seated on the cheap chair, watching as Lincoln began to slop the washing water over the counter as he did the odd bits of washing. The whole thing was very domestic – something Michael would never have even considered associating with Lincoln before – and again Michael was overwhelmed by a family feeling.

"Is LJ still at his friend's?"

Lincoln stilled, the dish cloth dangling from his hand, and gave Michael a long stare before replying. "No, he's back from Alec's. He's just at the shop at the moment – we need some more food for dinner."



Later, Michael would muse at LJ's perfect timing for opening the apartment's front door at that moment. But as the door opened and his nephew appeared as if on cue, it was not his smiling face that Michael looked at, it was the woman standing behind him.

"Sara...?"

Michael could feel his lungs collapsing into the place where his stomach had been. It wasn't possible she was alive. She was dead. Lincoln had said so. He had said so. Turning round, he stared up at his brother, searching for the truth; the relief, sorrow and regret in Lincoln's eyes gave him his answer.

"Michael." A soft hand smoothed over his cheek. "Michael, I know this is hard to take in, but I need to you to know that I am here. _Really_ here."

His eyes blurred, but he could still see the warmth of her brown eyes, the auburn sheen of her hair, the cream of her skin, the concern creasing her forehead. He could see the woman he had missed with all his heart.

A sob cracked through him. "Sara..."

Tears spilled from his eyes and Sara wrapped him in the tight cocoon of her arms. He still didn't understand how she was there – he feared he was dreaming – but in her embrace, he found that he didn't really much care.

XXX

He knew he should feel ashamed, but the only emotion he felt was joy. Staring at Sara from the chair pushed right up against hers, he could do nothing but smile like an idiot, continuously brushing his fingers over her face, arm, leg and any other part of her could easily reach.

She had arrived yesterday, much to the great surprise of Lincoln, and had had a long talk with his brother. She had also witnessed his latest fall from grace. Michael could feel his ears burn as he recalled LJ dragging him home. Shame spread from his ears all the way down to his toes as the memory pulled him away from Sara: he still couldn't quite believe that his nephew was forced to look after _him_ instead of the other way round, the way it should be.

His shame burned deeper. Sara, god _Sara_, and seen his fall too. She had been here, _really_ been here and not been part of his guilty mind, and seen everything.

Michael consciously ran his hand over the scar on his arm: it might have been covered by clothes but he could feel the small bump of where he had shoved the needle in...

"Michael, Lincoln told me all about the drug and alcohol problems you've been having."

His hand froze on his arm.



"He told you...What did he tell you?"

Sara's face was soft, her eyes full of a sorrowful understanding.

"Lincoln told me that you overdosed on insulin a few weeks ago; that you've been abusing alcohol regularly as well. And that he thinks it's serious enough that you should be considering rehab. "

"Oh."

His joy slipped away, the shame finally enveloping him. Michael only looked up as he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye: Sara was rolling up her sleeve, exposing the transparent skin that was sheer over her veins and muscles. She turned her arm slightly, and in the bright light of the kitchen, the tiny dots of her inner elbow glistened.

Sara looked up from her arm and stared Michael straight in the eye. "Michael, whatever you're feeling, whatever you decide to do, I want you to remember that you're not alone."

XXX

"I've only taken insulin twice since Fox River."

As his words filled the kitchen, Sara's expression sunk in on itself, surprise quickly smoothing away into a professional calm that managed to sooth Michael just like it had all those months ago back in Fox River.

"I know Lincoln thinks I'm addicted to it – and to be honest I can't blame him as I have never bothered to correct him – but he's wrong. I...The first time I used it was a few weeks after I had broken out of Sona. I, erm, I had got shot and so I broke into a hospital to get some antiseptic and gauze for the wound – at the time I couldn't just wander in and ask for treatment, and I couldn't leave the wound as it was, so I decided to try and treat myself. It was while I was in the store room that I came across this vile of insulin. I don't why I took it, but I did." Michael stopped, searching Sara's face for something that he wasn't even sure of what it was. As if sensing his uncertainty, Sara reached over and placed her hand over his. Michael looked down and watched as he curled his fingers round hers, and knew that he would never be able to truly let go of her again. "I guess just being in a hospital reminded me of you; reminded me of how much I wished you were with me. And I guess that was the same reason I took it the second time."

Michael looked up to search Sara's face again, but as soon as his eyes connected with hers, he found what he was looking for: her eyes were glazed with tears, tears that he could feel prickling at his own.

"I missed you too." A nervous laugh poured from her lips as she smiled sadly before her face smoothed out again into a calm and clear expression. "Now lift up your shirt. I want to see this bullet wound."



He paused for a second - Sara's determined face stared right at him, willing and waiting for him at the same time - then he slowly pulled his top over his head.

The scar was small and round, barely blurring the lines of his tattoo. In many ways it was like the scar that now was on his arm: invisible to those who didn't know it was there, and though hard to see even to those who did know, could never be forgotten about as the mental scars attached to it were some of his largest.

Michael was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped when Sara's fingers skimmed over his skin. "It's ok – I'm not going to hurt you," Sara murmured in his ear, words he was sure she had soothed a hundred patients with, as she felt the small bump on the side of his chest. And though he knew she had slipped back into the role of doctor, Michael could feel the sparks that sizzled across his skin every time her finger slide over his wound.

No longer able to ignore the shivers running through his skin, Michael covered Sara's hand with her own. Sara's fingers as a slight smile tugged at her lips, almost as if she knew exactly what Michael was feeling. Slowly, she lifted her eyes. "It's healed nicely – you clearly are pretty good as a doctor."

"Not as good as you."

A chuckle rumbled in her throat before she lightly tugged his shirt back into place as she sat back down on her chair. She shook her head at him, a smile still on her lips. "Still the charmer, aren't you?"

Michael smiled back.

Sara stared at him, her smile slowly fading, as if a deep sorrow was leaking into her mirth. "But seriously Michael, you might not be addicted to insulin but you still have an addiction to alcohol. And that's not something you can ignore," Sara said, serious once again. "Trust me, you can't."


	8. Fix VIII

FIX VIII

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Michael looked up and smiled as Sara crossed the room towards him. Her hair was once again a shimmering red, her cream skin smooth and glowing with the confidence of a self-made woman. The pride he felt about her was overwhelming. Not only had she fixed the mess he had made of her life – she now had a job at the free clinic around the corner from the apartment, and finally proved the righteous man that her father had been all along – but she had fixed his life as well. Because if it wasn't for her, he probably would be dead now from a needle in his arm or from a blow to the head during a bar fight, instead he where he actually was: in rehab.

"Hi."

Sara slid onto the sit opposite him, her smile warming the cold room. "Hey. You look good."

"And you look beautiful," he replied, his lips quirking up even further. "Like always, I might add."

She gave him a polite thank you in response, the slight curt tilt of her voice hinting towards her upper-class upbringing. It was the sort of response that he knew worked well with politicians and patients, plus prisoners. And though her reply was polished in every way, the hint of a blush that crept over her cheeks gave away the true affect his words had on her.

Michael's smile widened. Even after all these months, after everything they had been through, he loved that he could still cause her heart beat to increase. It seemed almost ironic that before he had even met her that was the exact effect he wanted to have on her, and now that causing that effect in her caused it in _him_.

Yes, the two of them had come far together, colliding and collapsing and changing for what he believed to be the better. And now was the time for him to take another giant leap forwards and he was hoping to every god that Sara would be willing to take his hand and take this final jump with him.

"Sara, I have some news to tell you," Michael said. "Two pieces of news actually.

"The doctors here have agreed that I have successfully completed their programme. Dr. Callies is particularly pleased with my progress and says that I can go home whenever I choose, which leads me to my second piece of news. As you know, they have career advisors here, and they have been helping me re-write my CV. I should have told you this early but I didn't want to jinx it: I applied for a new job at a local building company, and I got it."

The words spilled out of his mouth, a tumble of syllables strung together to form sentences. His heart was beating so fast he was sure that his blood was rushing too fast through his brain for it to grab the oxygen it needed to make sense of what he had to express. Sitting silently, his chest rising and falling quickly, Michael watched as Sara processed what he had just said.

Finally she replied.

"You're coming home."

"Yes," Michael nodded. "I'm coming home next week."

XXX

Michael sat on his neatly made bed, his fingers tapping against the sheet of paper in his hand. Though what the paper said was important in its own right, it was more what it _signified_ that was important. Michael had read the sheet accepting him as the new building design consultant for the firm Lincoln worked at – Michael still need to think of a way to repay Lincoln for mentioning the job opening to him and suggesting he go for it while dropping a few good words about him to the manager – numerous times, feeling a kind of relief that he was finally going to be doing a job he would enjoy again instead filling the role of as some sort of mind-numbed employee again, but it was only now that he read it and felt that he had finally reached the finishing line he had been half-running half-crawling towards for the past couple of years. Lincoln was finally free and happy, and now he himself finally had the family and contentment he had been unknowingly searching for.

Folding the sheet carefully in half, Michael filed it away in the one folder he had in his simple room. Glancing up at the clock that sat on top of the chest of drawers, Michael noted that it was time for his last visit to Dr. Callies' office before going home. However it would not be the last time he saw her. It had taken some string pulling, but Michael had switched from the therapist he had had to Dr. Callies for his psychiatric care. While his previous therapist had tried, had _really_ tried, Michael had just never felt compelled to open up to him. It had been the same when he was a young boy. Social services had sent him to counsellor after counsellor, hoping that maybe one would be able to guide him threw the grief his mother's death had caused him. It was only after months of changing from therapist to therapist that Michael had found himself sat in Dr. Brighton's office and finally, for no reason, saying out he felt. And now, years ago, Michael had found himself forced into Dr. Callies, and for no real reason, saying every thought that passed through his head.

Placing the folder next to the clock, Michael turned and left his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

XXX

His smart shirts and jackets were packed in his bag, along with an odd tie he had thrown in on a foolish whim while he was packing. It was almost ironic; out of all the clothes he had packed for rehab (and the few items he had gathered together for when he was on the run) it was an old black t-shirt and some worn looking jeans that he felt most comfort in. Michael almost felt like his old self in them. _No, scrap that._ He felt like a new, shiny version of himself in them.

As he stood in the clinic's lobby, Michael brushed his hand through his hair. He had let it grow longer, the mirror that lined one of the room's walls reflecting the curls twirling around his temples. 

Running his hand back forwards through his hair, Michael tried to flatten his fringe. Ever since he was a kid half of his hair at the front had tried to grow upwards as the other half tried to grow downwards. By the time he had hit twenty it had annoyed him so much he had shaved off all his hair. It was only now he had let it grow back to its natural uncontrollable state, and Michael was reminded of why he had had his hair cropped for so many years now.

"Mr Scofield?" The receptionist's voice – Carla from what he had learnt over the past few months – pulled him away from his reflection. "Your family is here."

As Michael turned to follow Carla's eye-line, Lincoln, LJ and Sara stepped through the glass doors. A grin burst out on Michael's face as soon as he saw him.

"Mike!"

Lincoln barrelled across the floor, bumping into one of the soft-furnished chairs, before flinging his arms around him in a bear hug. "Fuck, it's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you again too Linc."

His brother pulled back a bit; just enough that he could breathe normally again but not enough for him to move an inch, not that Michael really cared. "Yeah. Sorry I didn't visit you more often bro, but you know work and LJ and all that... Not that it matters anymore now that you're coming home!"

"Yeah, Uncle Mike, it's gonna be great having you home," LJ echoed, giving Michael a slap on the back. Michael looked down at LJ's smiling face, and felt warmth spread through his body.

Lincoln let go of Michael and grabbed his bag instead, saying "come on." With that, Lincoln and LJ began their way out of the clinic – carefully navigating around the furniture this time – as Carla waved goodbye, their cheery voices bouncing off the walls.

Michael's gaze slid sideways to rest upon Sara. So far she had been silent, a soft smile on her lips. Stepping forwards, Michael wrapped her into his embrace, breathing in her sweet scent. He smiled as he heard her sigh, relaxing into his arms. After a few long seconds, Sara pulled back to repeat Lincoln's words as she her fingers through his then gave him a tender kiss on the cheek, before gently guiding him out of rehab.

XXX

TBC


	9. Fix IX

FIX IX

...AND TWO MORE MONTHS LATER

Michael opened his eyes, the red numbers of his clock flashing at his eyes. It was little past seven in the morning and Michael couldn't help but smile. Rolling over, Michael's eyes were greeted by red hair instead of red digits.

Sensing his movement, Sara lazily blinked her lashes. "Hmmm, morning."

Michael reached over, brushing his fingers through her long locks, loving the feel of her soft hair against his skin. "Indeed. Good morning."

Sara shifted, slipping her hand under her cheek, propping her face up against the pillow. "You say that every morning."

"What can I say? You make my mornings so much brighter."

Sara smiled; it was a sight that lifted his heart every time. To begin with, it had been a challenge for Michael to adjust to life with Lincoln and LJ again, and to a life that included Sara. Before, Sara and Michael had only had snatches of time together, and all of a sudden they were spending every second together. Arguments and discontentments had arisen in the morning as both of them tried to get to work on time and in the evening when both were exhausted after a day at work. But after a few weeks things had smoothed out, and Sara and Michael had finally discovered how to give each other the space and time they needed so that when they were together they felt relaxed and at ease with each other.

It seemed almost ironic. While he had made peace with his past - with a little help from his friend Dr. Callies - and the man he had become, he had only just managed to come to terms with the twists and turns his and Sara's relationship had taken, which had strangely taken several AA and NA meetings; the talks with complete strangers let them say everything that when it was just the two of them they couldn't say.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Michael leaned forward and kissed Sara on the lips, enjoying that he could now just spend a simple Sunday morning with her in his arms. "I love you."

"I love you too."

It had taken a bit of time, but now Sara was the only thing he needed to sooth his wounds and to give him a rush for life. She was the only drug he needed.

XXX

END


End file.
